Of Sleepy Redheads and Twirling Moustaches
by Boogum
Summary: All Ginny wanted was to get her paperwork finished ... so what does Draco Malfoy's perfectly formed arse have to do with it? Written for the DG Forum's Fall 2011 Fic Exchange.


This story was written for **Lunar Fire's** prompt in The DG Forum Fic Exchange – Fall 2011. It won the awards for Best Banter and Best Characterisation of Ginny. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and supported my fic!

Also, a huge, huge thank you to Lia for beta reading! You're the best!

* * *

><p><strong>Of Sleepy Redheads and Twirling Moustaches<strong>

"Where the hell is that file?" Ginny muttered, grabbing at her hair as she stared at the mess that had become her desk.

The redhead was not the most organised person even on the best of days, but when it came to making sure all her paperwork was up to date for the department inventory, her office at home became a jungle of coffee mugs and papers, interspersed with the occasional take-away carton and half-eaten pastry. Right now the coffee mugs were winning, looming over the rest in a teetering mountain of porcelain. It was a testament to how long she had been working, and how little sleep she had got in turn.

Ginny sighed and rubbed at her eyes. "Come on, you stupid file!" she growled, slamming a fist down on the table and causing the nearest mug to spew out the last of its contents. "I know you're in here somewhere! You show yourself right now or I swear I'll—"

"_Meow!"_

Pausing in mid-rant, Ginny swivelled round in her chair to see the formidable Mrs Mittens—a tortoiseshell of gargantuan size, complete with a pink collar and bell—glowering at her through hazel eyes. A swish of a tail and a flick of an ear, and Ginny knew she was in hot water.

"Oh Merlin," Ginny moaned, smacking a hand against her forehead. "I forgot to feed you, didn't I?"

Mrs Mittens gave another angry yowl, looking less than impressed as she waited by the open door. Ginny didn't need to speak cat to know the feline was scolding her for stating the obvious.

"Fine, fine," she sighed, standing up from her chair and stretching her arms above her head. "I'll give you some food. Not that you need it, you overgrown lump of fur. I honestly don't know how you got so fat . . ."

Still mumbling to herself, Ginny strolled out of the room with Mrs Mittens tripping along beside her, bell jingling with every step. They came to the kitchen, and Ginny tapped her chin as she stared at the dirty dishes overflowing out of the sink and onto the bench, as well as the spilt coffee on the floor. She definitely needed to invest in a house-elf or a secretary to do her paperwork.

"What a mess you've made, Mrs Mittens!" Ginny exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and frowning down at the tortoiseshell.

Mrs Mittens gave her a haughty look, as if to reprimand the redhead for daring to try to blame her for a mess they both knew she had not made. The cat then gave a pointed look at her empty dishes and yowled again, loudly.

"Alright! Alright!" Ginny cried, stomping to the cupboard and thrusting open the doors. "I get it! You're hungry! I'm a terrible owner! Now stop your caterwauling!"

Mrs Mittens gave a very feline smile and waited beside her dishes while her mistress got out one of those special tins she oh-so-loved. Chicken and gravy too! Her favourite.

"There!" Ginny grumbled, dropping the stinking mess into one of the dishes and filling up the other with water. "Your dinner is served, oh queenly one. Enjoy!"

Mrs Mittens dug in with all the hunger of an animal forced to starve well beyond her meal time. Ginny frowned and stared at the round clock on the wall, wondering how late it actually was.

"Make that early," she corrected, eyes widening in dismay as she stared at the direction of the hands.

It was six in the morning. That meant she had—

"Work in two hours!" Ginny gasped, clutching at her hair. "No! No, no, _no_! I'm not finished with the files, and I haven't even showered, or slept, or—"

She groaned, hopping up and down on the spot as she wondered how she was ever going to get everything done and still make it to work on time without looking like she'd just been stampeded by a herd of angry centaurs. It was going to take a miracle.

"Alright, Ginny," she said, taking in a deep breath. "Just calm down. So you're a little behind in the filing. You still have two hours. You can make this work. You're one of the best Aurors out there, and—" she gave a nervous glance at the clock "—and you really need to stop leaving your paperwork to the last minute."

Sparing a brief look at the fat Mrs Mittens, who had already gobbled up a large portion of her meal, Ginny dashed out of the kitchen and headed back into her office. She shoved the empty coffee mugs out of the way on her desk, shattering at least two in the process, and then continued her hunt for the elusive file.

"Damn it, where are you?" she growled, giving the desk a hard kick, which she then quickly morphed into a howl of pain.

Tears springing to her eyes, Ginny reached down to rub at her now throbbing toes, hissing a few curses as she did so. Kicking a heavy wooden object while barefoot really wasn't the smartest of ideas. On a positive note, it seemed she had finally found the file.

Ginny picked up the piece of parchment and stared at it for a moment, the corners of her mouth drooping. "Coffee stains," she mumbled, observing the cup-shaped rings dotted over the writing from where she had placed her mug. "Just perfect."

Was nothing going to go right for her today?

There was a crash from the other end of the house, and she turned to see a streak of mottled black and ginger go racing past the open door. Mrs Mittens had obviously decided to knock something over—something large and expensive from the sounds of things.

Ginny raised her eyes to the heavens. "Merlin grant me patience!"

Though what she really needed was time. A lot more time, and maybe some more coffee as well. She stared at the wad of parchment scattered over her desk, which all needed to be completed and placed into their correct piles before lunch, though she'd prefer if she could get it done before she left for work.

"This is going to be a _long_ day," Ginny sighed, collapsing on the chair and picking up her quill.

Next time she was definitely going to hire a secretary.

* * *

><p>Two hours passed far too quickly for Ginny's liking, leaving her with barely ten minutes to shower, get ready, and then Apparate to work. So it was that when the redhead finally walked through the doors to the Auror department, she really did feel as if she had been stampeded by a herd of angry centaurs, and maybe a few dragons along the way. To make things worse, she was quite certain that she had forgot to put on deodorant that morning, was definitely certain she had forgot to brush her hair, and a closer look at her attire had her discovering there was a red splotch on her blouse, directly over her left breast.<p>

_Just like a bloody nipple!_ Ginny thought, fruitlessly trying to fold the material over to hide the mark.

Now she wished she had paid more attention to her mum's lectures on becoming a good home-maker. Molly Weasley would have undoubtedly known the spell for removing stains, but Ginny, alas, could recall no such incantation. For now it seemed she was stuck with the extra nipple.

She sighed and made her way across the room to her office cubicle, dropping her bag with a clunk to the floor before sitting down on her chair. The blond who worked in the neighbouring compartment raised his head, alerted by the sound. He was a very striking man, with strong, angular features and a complexion of which any woman would be envious, but it was his eyes that truly caught attention. They were of the darkest grey and fringed with surprisingly long lashes. Combined with his silvery-blond hair and pale skin, those eyes were pure, seductive danger. At that moment, they were also aimed at Ginny.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous," the blond observed, leaning back in his chair as he took in her dishevelled appearance.

"Shut it, Malfoy! I am _not_ in the mood!"

"I was merely giving you a compliment."

"Compliment, my arse! You know damn well I look hideous, so spare me your mockery, you overstuffed leech!"

He scrunched up his nose in distaste. "As much as I appreciate your creativity, I think 'overstuffed leech' is pushing it a little too far, don't you?"

"Really?" she queried, looking him up and down. "I thought it suited you perfectly."

Draco placed a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded, Ginevra. Truly."

"Please," she said with a derisive snort. "You don't have a heart to wound."

"Now that is not true." An attractive smile graced his lips—the kind that made knees weak and even the most hardened of hearts race. "And if I don't have a heart, it's because you have stolen it."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Does that actually work?"

"Does what work?"

"Your 'I'm so charming' act."

"Maybe not on antagonistic shrews, but it certainly does on normal women."

"Oh, I see. So it only works on airheaded twits," Ginny exclaimed brightly. "I'm glad we got that cleared up."

Draco gave a soft chuckle. "Ah, Ginevra. You're always such a delight to be around."

"I'm sorry I can't say the same for you."

"My, my," he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "You do have your claws out today, don't you? I wonder what could have happened to put you in such a bad mood. Normally I'd blame it on your miserable, spinsterish existence, but then you'd be like this every day."

"Ha ha, very funny," she said with another roll of her eyes.

She reached into her bag for the dreaded files and dumped them on her desk, still talking as she did so.

"If you must know, I was up all last night and this morning trying to get my paperwork up to date for the inventory. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours, so forgive me if I don't have patience for your pathetic excuse of a person."

"Ah," Draco said with a knowing glint in his eye. "That must be why you smell like a walking coffee shop."

"What?" Ginny demanded, looking a bit red around the ears. She leaned down and gave her blouse a sniff, but all she could smell was the faint musty scent of material that hadn't been worn in a while. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do."

She folded her arms. "Well, so what? I don't care. It's not like I'm running for a beauty contest."

"Clearly," he remarked, giving her appearance another once-over. "I wonder what you'd call that hairstyle of yours. _À la bird nest_?"

Ginny gritted her teeth. "Oh, shut up. I was in a rush."

"And that is why you shouldn't procrastinate."

"Right," she said dryly, "because you're just the paragon of the perfect employee."

Draco allowed himself a small smirk. "At least I get my paperwork done on time and don't come to work looking like I got dressed with my eyes closed."

Her cheeks bloomed with pink, though it was more from anger than embarrassment. "Another word from you, Malfoy, and you'll soon learn why procrastinating isn't the only thing you shouldn't do."

"Don't worry, love," he responded, getting to his feet and holding what looked like a box of his own paperwork. "I've had quite enough of your pleasantries for one morning."

"Good," she snapped. "I'm sick of looking at your ugly mug."

He laughed softly. "I would state the obvious, but then my mother taught me not to be impolite to females—if one can even call you that."

Ginny clenched her hands into fists and was about to make a retort when he suddenly paused, taking her off guard.

"Oh, by the way," he added, turning back to face her. "You might want to remove that stain on your blouse. People might get the wrong idea, positioned as it is."

He smiled in a friendly manner, which was a sure sign he was mocking her, and then left without even waiting for a response. Ginny glared at his retreating figure, irritated that he had managed to humiliate her and get the last word.

"Jerk," she muttered.

She was still fuming when something blue fluttered onto her desk, landing on top of the stack of papers. Ginny unfurled the memo and frowned as she read the department administrator's 'gentle reminder' for her to have her case files ready by lunch, no exceptions. The last part had been underlined three times.

Ginny sighed and stared back at her unfinished paperwork. She was definitely going to need more coffee.

* * *

><p>Three hours later and Ginny was still working on the files. She was also fast losing her patience. It should not have taken her this long to complete her paperwork, but it seemed like everyone in the department had decided it was Let's Annoy Ginny Day and were determined to hinder her progress. In just the past half an hour she had been interrupted no less than four times, and it didn't help that she felt as slow and stupid as a Flobberworm.<p>

Ginny sighed and rubbed at her temples, wondering if she should get herself another coffee. She already had enough caffeine swimming around in her system to fuel a Muggle spaceship, but her body was so exhausted that it sucked up every boost of energy like water in a desert. However, she also knew that if she just let nature take its course, she was bound to fall asleep, and then her work would never get done. Of course, getting her paperwork finished would be much easier if people would stop pestering her.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Ginny closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath as she clenched the quill tighter in her hand.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Malfoy," she said sharply, opening her eyes to glare at the blond.

"Yes, Ginevra?" he drawled, swivelling round in his chair to face her.

"If you don't stop tapping that quill, I swear I am going to break your fingers."

He chuckled and placed the quill on the desk. "Still feeling a bit tetchy, are you?"

"I'm not tetchy. I'm tired," she grumbled, hunching back over her papers. "And these bloody files refuse to be finished!"

"Poor darling. Would you like me to get you some coffee?" He picked up her cup and examined the insides. "It seems you have run out again."

Ginny stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you do that for me?"

"Because you look frankly miserable, and as difficult as I know it is for you to believe, I am not completely heartless." His eyes glinted with humour. "Besides, the sooner you get your work done, the less I'll have to hear your huffing and puffing."

"I do not huff and puff!" Ginny snapped, and then paused, realising how ridiculous she sounded.

A smirk curled his lips. "Just so."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up and get my coffee!"

"As you wish, darling," he responded with a lazy smile, and then got to his feet.

She watched him make his way across the room, and it took her a full three seconds to realise she was staring at his arse. Very much so.

"Don't even go there, Ginny Weasley," she told herself sternly, and forced her gaze back to the safer, if much less appealing, view of her desk.

Draco Malfoy may be impossibly handsome and in perfect shape, but that did not mean she had to go around checking out his arse.

"I must be more tired than I thought," Ginny mumbled, resting her chin on her hands.

Her gaze fell on the clock hanging up on the far wall, and she sighed, realising she had less than an hour to get her case files finished. She hoped Draco would hurry with that coffee.

Another memo fluttered onto her desk, this one a vibrant pink. Ginny groaned, already knowing to whom it would belong.

"What does Connie have to say this time?" she mumbled, unfurling the rose scented paper and examining the script.

_Gin-Gin,_

_Do you remember that guy I was telling you about? The one who owns his own marketing business? Well, he's going to be in town today, and he's agreed to have lunch with you, so I hope you wore something nice to work. _

_Connie_

Ginny stared down at her stained blouse and crumpled pants.

_I don't think I can make it today_, she wrote back. _Too much work to do, and I'm really not in the mood._

The paper glowed for a moment and then vanished. A minute later and it was back, branded with a new message.

_Don't you dare try and pull out of this, Ginny Weasley! I did not just spend my morning trying to set you up on a blind date with this guy for you to turn around and say no. He's perfect, and he's rich too. And he doesn't know you enough to be frightened off by your odd habits, so you might actually have a chance with this one. _

The redhead scowled at the loopy script. "What odd habits?" she demanded. "There's nothing wrong with me."

But Connie, upon being asked to clarify, clearly thought otherwise. She said—out of friendly concern, of course—that Ginny needed to stop being so stubborn and picky when it came to men and realise that she was twenty-seven years old and fast on her way to becoming the resident spinster. She was the only one of their group who wasn't married or at least dating someone—hadn't, in fact, dated anyone since she was nineteen—and having a fat cat named Mrs Mittens for a companion was nothing to boast about. In short, Connie told Ginny she was pathetic and would be a fool not to go on this date with the marketing man.

_Fine!_ Ginny wrote, sick of the whole conversation. _I'll go to lunch with him. Happy?_

The paper vanished and then reappeared in an instant.

_I knew you'd make the right decision, Gin-Gin. Will get back to you when I have the rest of the details._

_Connie _

Ginny sighed and rubbed at her eyes. An all too familiar scent of roasted beans teased her nostrils and she pulled her hands away to see Draco standing beside her, holding out a cup of coffee. She had to admit that she hadn't actually expected him to get her anything, but she wasn't about to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking the drink gratefully from his hand.

"You're welcome," he responded, sitting down on his chair, though still keeping himself angled toward her. "So who's this marketing man?"

"You read my messages!" she exclaimed, almost choking on her coffee.

He shrugged. "You were the one who didn't notice me standing behind you."

"Gods! Is there nothing private around here anymore?"

"I guess not."

Ginny glowered at him. "Jerk."

"Oh, relax, Ginevra. It's just a few messages."

"No, Malfoy, those were my messages. _Mine_!"

Draco graced her with one of his most charming smiles. "And very interesting they were too. I had no idea you own a fat cat named Mrs Mittens."

Ginny responded by throwing her quill at him.

"Careful," he warned. "You almost got ink on me then."

"Be thankful I didn't throw the pot."

Draco chuckled. "Are you this feisty in the bedroom too?"

Her eyes flashed. "Malfoy, would you just—"

Something pink fluttered before her gaze, distracting her. She reached out for it, but Draco managed to snatch it up before she could even get a fingertip on the paper.

"Oh, look," he said gleefully. "It's from your dear friend Connie again, and she has more news about the marketing man."

"Give it back, Malfoy."

"Tut, tut, Ginevra. You have to say please first."

She clenched her hands into her fists, barely repressing a growl. Draco ignored her and continued to scan the contents of the note.

"What a shame," he said when he was finished. "It seems like the marketing man can't make it to lunch, after all, but he says he can meet you at four, at a café of your choice, to have a chat over drinks. How quaint."

Ginny held out her hand. "Give it!"

Draco finally relinquished the note. She wasted no time in reading the message and realised that the blond was indeed right. Ginny scribbled a quick reply, agreeing that four would be fine and that they could meet at the Hawthorn Tree café for drinks. The paper then vanished, leaving the blond and redhead staring at each other—or in Ginny's case, glaring.

"The Hawthorn Tree, hrm?" Draco mused.

Ginny closed her eyes. "Don't even start, Malfoy."

He chuckled softly but decided to leave her in peace, which was a good thing. Ginny now had less than forty minutes to finish the last of her files. On the bright side, at least with the marketing man deciding to change the time of their date, she could now go home and fix up her appearance a bit, or at the very least change her shirt.

"Everything is going to work out," she murmured, taking in a deep breath. "Everything _has _to work out."

"You know, they say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Draco observed, absently twirling a quill between his fingers.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she snapped, not even looking at him.

Ginny stared at her papers and then realised she had no quill. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, where is my bloody quill?"

"You threw it at me, remember?" He held out the quill in his hand before she could demand it back. "Here."

Ginny snatched it off him and then hunched back over her desk, pointedly ignoring him.

"What's this?" he said teasingly. "Not even a thank you?"

"Malfoy, I am incredibly tired. I still have loads of work to do, and I am not going to let you, your perfectly formed arse, or any other stupid person in this building distract me from finishing that work. Now for the last time, shut up!"

"Perfectly formed arse?" he repeated, clearly amused.

Ginny went bright red. "I'm not having this conversation anymore."

"As you wish, darling." He got to his feet and slipped past her chair, pausing only a moment to whisper in her ear, "But you're right: it is a perfectly formed arse."

Ginny couldn't help but smile, and continued to smile long afterwards. Her amusement faded, however, when she happened to chance a look at the clock and realised another ten minutes had passed.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed. "I really need to stop letting myself get distracted."

* * *

><p>Despite the deadline being at noon, it was almost one o'clock when Ginny finally handed in her papers to the administration desk. Anthea, the department administrator, peered at the redhead from over the frames of her glasses, her lips pursed.<p>

"Tell me, Weasley, can you read the time?"

"Of course I can read the time," Ginny said blankly.

"Then why am I receiving this an hour late?"

Ginny fidgeted with a button on her blouse. "Er, well, you see, I was just—"

"Spare me," Anthea interposed, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "I'm sure I've heard enough garbled excuses from you to last me a lifetime."

"Right," Ginny said, feeling her stomach sink.

Anthea placed the stack of papers in a metal box, which then vanished. She raised an eyebrow when she saw that Ginny hadn't moved.

"You can leave."

"Right," Ginny said again.

She turned and walked quickly down the hallway, only letting out a breath when she was completely out of eyesight. Anthea had always terrified her, and that fear had nothing to do with the fact that the older woman resembled a preying-mantis. Still, at least there were no papers to worry about anymore.

"Thank goodness," Ginny muttered, entering the lift.

She was completely exhausted and even the thought of looking at another file made her want to burst into tears. It was time for a break—her stomach grumbled—and to get some food. Coffee was not exactly the most filling of substances.

"What floor do you want, dear?" an elderly witch asked, smiling at Ginny while holding a box of broken Sneakoscopes.

"Cafeteria," Ginny answered, smothering another yawn.

The woman pressed the button and the two of them stood there as the lift began to move, multi-coloured memos flapping overhead like so many paper owls. Ginny stared out the glass wall at nothing at particular and allowed her attention to wander, too tired to keep her thoughts on track. The lift came to a stop at the next floor, and a few of the memos floated out just as Seamus Finnigan walked in clutching a very expensive looking broom in his hand. He leaned over and pressed the button for the floor he wanted and then the doors slid shut and they were moving again.

"Alright there, Ginny?" he asked, propping himself against the wall.

"Yeah, sure," she mumbled, this time managing to suppress her yawn. "You?"

"Same old, same old. Oh, hey," he exclaimed, grinning. "I managed to get me hands on one of them new Wonder Markers—you know the ones? You can write on anything and it will never come off."

"I did hear something about that," Ginny admitted. "And?"

Seamus opened his mouth to respond when he suddenly noticed the splotch on her blouse. "Sweet Brighid. You've got yourself a nice stain there. It looks like a—"

"Nipple," Ginny said dryly. "I know."

The lift came to another halt.

"This is your stop, dear," the elderly woman remarked, smiling at Ginny.

Ginny muttered goodbye to Seamus and then left the lift, heading down the corridor to the cafeteria. There were only a few people seated at the tables, as most had already had their lunch, but Ginny was particularly relieved to see that there was no Connie. Her friend was impossible when she was in her matchmaker moods, and Ginny had no desire to discuss anything to do with her romance life (or lack of), and especially not the marketing man. Right now she just wanted a bite to eat and some peace and quiet.

Purchasing a chicken wrap and a bottle of water, Ginny settled down at one of the chairs and began to pick away at her food. Now that she was actually eating, she realised that she wasn't that hungry after all. In fact, all she really wanted to do was sleep.

"A nice bed with fluffy pillows," Ginny murmured, resting her chin on her hands. "That would be perfect."

She smiled as she imagined taking off her shoes and then lying down on the bed, where she would then rest her head against the impossibly soft pillow. Her body would naturally fall into that perfect position, optimal for comfort, and then she would close her eyes and—

Ginny sat up with a jerk. Something wet was sticking to her chin, and on her arm for that matter. Her neck was also in a lot of pain, as if it had been stuck in an odd angle for far too long.

"Oh, no," she breathed, catching sight of the clock.

The time was now five past four in the afternoon. She must have fallen asleep, not to mention had somehow managed to stay that way for over three hours.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed. "Why did no one come and wake me?"

But there was no one around to answer her question, and it was with dismay that Ginny realised she was now late for her date with the marketing man.

"Crap, crap, crap!" she cried, springing out of her seat and dashing to the lift so she could get to the nearest Disapparation point.

She sure hoped the marketing man could name patience as one of his virtues. Connie would kill her if she stuffed this up again.

After what seemed a lifetime of running, cursing, and hopping up and down on the spot, Ginny finally managed to make it to the Disapparation point. She raised her wand and vanished with a small pop, appearing right outside the Hawthorn Tree café. She had been told to look for a man wearing a grey suit, and was rather relieved to see one sitting at a table inside the establishment. He wasn't bad looking either, judging from what she could see of him. Slim, dark hair (with no sign of a receding hairline), and his features, while not startling, were nothing to scoff at either.

Pausing a moment to catch her breath, Ginny entered the café and smiled as she crossed to where he was seated. "I'm so sorry I'm late," she said by way of greeting, sitting down opposite him. "I, er, got held up at work."

"That's fine," he responded politely, until he actually looked at her properly, and then he just stared.

Ginny shifted on her seat. "What? Is there something wrong?"

"Is this some kind of a joke?" he demanded, not looking particularly amused.

"What?" she repeated.

"Well, as far as I am aware," he said snippily, "most women don't turn up to a blind date with a moustache drawn on their upper lip. I hope you're not one of those women who think it is amusing to play practical jokes, because I find that very immature."

Ginny's stomach dropped with a sudden lurch. "Excuse me? Did you just say a . . . moustache?"

"Did I stutter?"

Ignoring his rudeness, Ginny grabbed the steel pepper shaker and held it up to her face, using it as a mirror. Sure enough, someone had gone and drawn an impressive, twirling moustache on her upper lip. A very black and permanent looking moustache.

Swallowing her squeak of horror, she licked her fingertip and rubbed at the black markings, but it was to no avail. The moustache would not go away—wouldn't even smudge, in fact.

"No," Ginny breathed as an awful suspicion came to her mind. "Surely he wouldn't have—"

The marketing man sighed in exasperation. "If you're done talking to yourself, perhaps you should go and wash that ridiculous thing off your face. And you should really remove that stain on your shirt as well. It's very embarrassing for me to have to sit here with someone who looks like she doesn't know how to take care of her appearance."

"Would you please _shut up_?" Ginny snarled, turning a pair of flashing brown eyes on her companion. "Geez, you'd think you're the king of the world with the way you talk. You're even worse than Malfoy!"

The marketing man stood up, clearly offended. "I do not have to put up with this. First you make me wait for you for over fifteen minutes in this tacky little café, then you turn up with a moustache drawn on your face, and now you're insulting me." He gathered up his belongings and stared at her coolly. "I don't think this date is going to work. Staying here with you would be a complete waste of my time."

"You're right," she agreed, also getting to her feet. "I have no interest whatsoever in a pompous jerk like you!"

Not even waiting for a response, Ginny stormed out of the café and then headed straight back to the ministry. There was a certain Irishman she needed to find, and when she got hold of him, she was going to make him rue the day he was ever born. Or, at the very least, the day he decided to purchase that damned Wonder Marker.

* * *

><p>It was just after five o'clock when Draco Malfoy found the redhead in the Leaky Cauldron, cradling a glass of Firewhisky in her hand. She was seated at the bench and, judging by her slumped shoulders, had obviously been drinking for a while. He detached himself from his group of friends and came and sat beside her on one of the high stools.<p>

"Bit early for heavy drinking, don't you think?" he observed, hailing the bartender to get him his usual.

"Not when you've had a day like mine," she muttered, taking a sip of her alcohol.

Draco blinked as he noticed the black shape on her upper lip. "Is that a moustache?"

"That's right," she affirmed, raising her glass in a mock cheer. "Courtesy of Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan. I didn't even know I had it until I went to have my date with the marketing man—who, I should add, turned out to be a complete and utter twat. I didn't even get his name after all of that, either."

Draco frowned. "Can't you just remove it?"

She shook her head. "The idiots thought it would be funny to test the new Wonder Marker on me when they found me asleep in the cafeteria. Of course, since it is spelled to be _permanent_, it doesn't come off quite so easily." She gave a bitter laugh. "Seems like I'm going to be sporting my new moustache for a while until the manufacturers and spell reversal team can figure out how to remove it without damaging my skin."

"Poor darling," he murmured, but this time there was no mistaking the warmth in his voice.

Something about that tender quality spoke to some sleep-deprived, over-emotional part of Ginny, and suddenly she found that she was crying.

"Oh, Draco, I've had such a horrible day!" she exclaimed, burying her face against his chest with tears of pure exhaustion leaking down her cheeks. "Nothing has gone right and—and—"

"And it seems like someone has had more than enough to drink," Draco finished for her, removing the cup of Firewhisky from her hand and setting it back down on the bench.

Ginny sniffed and clutched at his coat lapel, still with her face hidden against his chest. "I haven't really," she confided. "That was my first glass. I'm just so—" a yawn escaped her lips "—so tired."

He laughed lightly. "Yes, I can see that. You look like you're about to fall asleep."

Ginny said nothing. She had just discovered that his coat smelled rather delicious: a cool, decidedly masculine scent, with just a hint of wood. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the cologne and couldn't help the smile that came to her lips.

"You smell nice," she mumbled, shifting her face into a more comfortable position against him.

Draco frowned down at her. "You sure you're not drunk?"

Ginny pulled back to look at him, black mascara smudged around her eyes from where she had been crying. "Why?"

"Because you're being awfully affectionate," he responded, "and I was quite certain you disliked me."

"I do dislike you. I dislike you _excessively_," she declared, emphasising the word. "But I'm also exhausted, have a permanent moustache on my face, and managed to ruin yet another of Connie's matchmaker dates. I'm a complete and utter mess, and you just happened to be the first person to show me a bit of sympathy."

"I see," he said, not quite able to hide his smile.

Her eyes watered again. "Gods, I'm pathetic. I can't believe I'm relying on you for comfort. _You_! "

He laughed softly. "Chin up, love. It's not so bad."

"How so?"

"Because," he continued, wiping a smudge of mascara away from her cheek, "even though you have a twirling moustache, your make-up is ruined, and you still have that unfortunate stain on your blouse, there is one thing you have which no one else can claim."

"And what is that?" she demanded sulkily.

"My perfectly formed arse seated next to you on this chair, of course."

Ginny giggled before she could stop herself, and then glared at him. "That wasn't funny."

"Yes it was, and you know it."

She rolled her eyes and would have gone back to sulking, but then she felt him place a hand on her shoulder. Surprised, she glanced up to see him standing beside her.

"Come on, love," he said, not quite a smile curling his lips. "You need to get out of this pub before you end up drowning in a pit of your own despair. How about I take you out to dinner? I know this place in Diagon Alley that does excellent food."

"But I look a mess!" she exclaimed. "And I have a bloody moustache! You can't just ignore that!"

"So what?" he said with a shrug. "I'm good looking and stylish enough for the both of us, whether you have a drawn on moustache or not. No one will care."

"You are so arrogant," Ginny muttered, grabbing her bag and standing up to follow him.

He placed an arm around her shoulders. "Ah, but you love it."

"Don't get too carried away, Malfoy," she said as he led her out of the pub. "This doesn't change a thing between us."

"Of course not, Ginevra," he responded, smiling his most charming smile. "I wouldn't dream of thinking otherwise." He paused. "Now then, after dinner will it be my place or yours?"

Their eyes met, and Ginny couldn't help the grin that came to her lips. Even with twenty-four hours without sleep and a false moustache, there were some things worth the struggle of staying awake and swallowing one's pride. Getting a personal look at Draco Malfoy's perfectly formed arse was one of them.

* * *

><p><strong>Lunar's Prompt #2<br>**

**Basic premise:**How would Ginny or Draco (or both) act after a day (24hrs) without sleep? Chronicle their experiences throughout the day and how their communication with one another changes. Why they are tired can be up to the writer's imagination, as are the details of their relationship. They may be friends, enemies, or lovers, etc. to start so long as it makes sense in context with the rest of the story.

**Must haves:**Someone must fall asleep in a peculiar place and be punished for it accordingly.

**No-no's:**No fluffy moments or actions of any kind that would suggest a relationship between Harry and Ginny that goes beyond friendship.

**Rating range:**T and above.

**Bonus points:** Not applicable.


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